The knock on the door came on time and as expected.
“Just a moment,” Dr. Birjandi said, reaching for the satphone on the nightstand next to his bed and hiding it under his robes. He felt strongly that he needed to call David and let him know where he was and what was happening, but he was certain his room was bugged. His only chance to make the call, he concluded, was somewhere else on the base. The risk, of course, was that he could never be certain he was truly alone at any given moment, but if the Lord wanted him to make the call, Birjandi knew he would find a way where there was no way.
Birjandi walked slowly to the door of his room and felt for the handle.
“Please forgive an old man,” he said, finally opening the door. “I’m not as spry as I once was.”
He fully expected some young Syrian military aide to gather him for breakfast, but to his surprise it was actually someone he knew.
“Sabah al-khayr,” said the familiar voice.
“Sabah al-noor,” Birjandi replied, then added, “Abdol, is that you?”
“It is, indeed, Dr. Birjandi,” Esfahani replied. “I’m impressed by your memory.”
“At my age, me too,” Birjandi quipped.
Esfahani chuckled. “Forgive me for not greeting you and talking to you more last night when you arrived, Alireza, but I assumed you would be fatigued from the journey.”
“That is quite all right. There is nothing to forgive. And indeed I was fatigued.”
“May I escort you down to breakfast?”
“Yes, of course,” said Birjandi. “I have decided to fast today, if that is all right. But I would be honored to join you. Will it just be you?”
“No, there are several, actually, who are looking forward to spending time with you, including General Jazini and General Hamdi. They are eager to meet the world’s leading expert on Shia eschatology.”
“Whatever for?” Birjandi demurred. “The end has come. The words of the ancient prophets are coming true before our very eyes.”
He meant the words of the Bible, of course, not the words of the Qur’an or other Islamic writings, but for the moment the ambiguity helped him maintain his cover. The question was, how much longer should he wait before revealing himself as a true follower of Jesus Christ, not the Twelfth Imam? As he walked, Birjandi silently prayed John 12:49, that the Father would command him “what to say and how to say it,” just as the Father had commanded Christ himself.
After a long night of prayer, Birjandi was at peace about what was coming. He was ready to see the Lord face-to-face and eager to share the gospel with everyone on this base before he departed. He had no idea whether he could persuade anyone to renounce Islam and follow Jesus as he had done, but he was determined to try.
As they made their way down the hallway and onto an elevator, Birjandi looked for a way to begin a spiritual conversation, but once Esfahani had started talking, he would not stop. He went on and on about how thrilled he was to have been chosen for this assignment, to be on the advance team for the Mahdi’s visit, and to actually be on the front lines when history was made.
“The world will remember this day forever,” Esfahani said proudly.
“It will, indeed,” Birjandi replied, though his heart grieved for this young man, for how blind he was and how close he was to perishing forever.
Lord, may I share the Good News of your Son with him right now, on this elevator? Birjandi prayed, but the answer he received was no, he must wait; the time was not yet right.
David and his team were coming up on a medium-size town called Al Qa’im, at the far edge of which they planned to cross the border into Syria. Noticing a small shop selling fruit, snacks, water, soda, cigarettes, newspapers, and the like, David pulled in and told his team they had five minutes and no more. He was going to find a toilet. He’d be right back.
While his men bought some provisions and were glad to stretch their legs, David did track down a toilet room so filthy he couldn’t bear to enter it. He found some bushes and relieved himself, then powered up his satphone and speed-dialed Eva.
“Fischer.”
“Eva, hey, it’s me — but don’t say my name out loud.”
“It’s okay, David; I’m by myself.”
“Fine, listen; I need a favor, and I need it fast.”
“Sure, what’s up? Are you okay? Where are you right now?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, but I can’t really say anything else,” David replied. “Listen, I need you to hunt down a phone call that would have been made last week, probably Wednesday or Thursday.”
He quickly explained precisely what he was looking for. “Can you do that for me?” he asked.
“Yes,” Eva said. “But why do you need it?”
“I’m working on a hunch,” David explained. “But I don’t want Jack or Tom or anyone else there to know about it until I can verify it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think they’ll get it,” he said. “Not at first.”
“Won’t get it, or won’t approve it?” Eva asked.
“No comment,” he said.
“So you’re going rogue.”
David sighed. She was onto him. “Will you help me?”
“Of course,” she said. “What are friends for?”
“You’re a great friend, Eva; thank you. Now one more question,” David said. “Can you tell me how many other NOC teams are out here in the field with us, and do you know if there’s a way I can link up with any of them?”
There was an awkward silence.
“Eva?”
“Yes?”
“Did you hear my question?”
“Yeah, I heard it.”
“Well?”
“You want the official answer or the real answer?”
“Both.”
“The official answer is, ‘The administration is doing everything we can to bring peace to the Middle East and protect the U.S. and our allies from any threat of an Iranian nuclear arsenal,’” Eva said.
“And the real answer?”
“The real answer is you’re on your own, my friend.”
David was startled.
“There’s no one out here with us?”
“They pulled everyone out.”
“Except us.”
“Right.”
“Then why keep us in the field?”
“So the president can tell the Israelis with a straight face that he’s got men risking their lives to stop Iran.”
“But in reality he’s cutting us loose.”
“Your words,” Eva said. “Not mine.”
“Thanks for the brutal honesty.”
“My pleasure,” Eva quipped. “Now listen, don’t get yourself killed. You owe me big-time, and if you’re dead, I won’t be able to collect.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised.
“You’d better.”
They hung up quickly, and sixty seconds later David was back in the driver’s seat, leading his team to the Syrian border.
Prime Minister Naphtali was infuriated by the Iranian propaganda offensive. But two could play this game, and he decided to turn the tables. He called in the foreign minister, his communications director, and his chief spokesman and told them to immediately release all the details of the grisly deaths of the young American couple honeymooning in Tiberias who had been killed by an Iranian missile.
“What were their names again?” he asked.
“Christopher and Lexi Vandermark,” said the communications director.
“Do you have all the details of their itinerary?” the PM asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Their passport photos from when they entered the country?”
“Yes.”
“Can you edit together some of the videos you retrieved from security cameras close to the hotel, showing the hotel being hit by the missile and then collapsing?”